


Mates and Princes

by ReticentRouge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Creature Fic, F/M, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Male Slash, On Hiatus, Possible Mpreg, Veela Draco, Violence, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:29:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1524509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReticentRouge/pseuds/ReticentRouge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco comes into his Veela Heritage and Harry is his mate. Harry comes into his own mysterious heritage. Harry is still reeling from the death of his godfather and finds that those he thought were his friends and mentors may well have ulterior plans of their own.The world runs a gamut of morality. When Good will use evil means and Evil will have good ends it's hard to see the lines of right and wrong. Harry must fight for independence in a war he never wanted and from people who would control him. Who can he trust?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mates and Princes

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this story for a while, in fact this is a redux. I got stuck. The prologue now contains both itself and what was once the 1st chapter of the new story. I have no strict plans for posting. Constructive criticism is very welcome, though 'flaming' can be kept to your own keyboard (thank you very much). I have no beta so any mistakes are mine. This is my first work here on AO3 and is a WIP.
> 
> *Standard Disclaimer:All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Prologue

_We find, at times, that our dreams were in all actuality, the lives that we were living. Life is far more ludicrous._

-excerpt from Mystics and the  L ives  T hey  L ive

 

 

5 June 1996

 

The sweat drenched sheets were wrapped around him like a lover (if said lover was a python). He couldn’t breath. He was hot. He was cold. He ached in pain and pleasure. His body, his soul, and his magic were on fire. Sixteen today and he had Inherited. Through the haze of it all there was sound that bled into his consciousness.

“Oh Lucy-poo, You know you can’t resist me on this _darling_ brother,” said a sugary venom filled voice. “You are bound to my family. You do what _I_ want and what I want is a betrothal of _my_ nephew. You can not deny me.”

“He will not.” That voice was fathers. Indomitable. “You do not have the magic to bind him.”

“Be sensible Bellatrix,” came his mothers cool, clear voice. “He’s much too young to suffer through such indignities.”

“Cissy, the Parkinson’s are a superlative family.” His aunt defended kindly to her sister. “They can trace themselves past eight generations of pure wizarding blood and are loyal to the Dark Lord. Pansy will be perfect to keep him in check. Their kind need it after all.” As if she were any better. His veela pedigree was inherited from both the Malfoy and Black families. “I do not need to magic to bind him regardless, just make sure he breeds a whelp in Pansy. Nothing a potion wont fix. I’m sure the Dark Lord will let me borrow Severus for this. Yes, how perfect,” she cooed. A wave of anger and something close to hatred rushed through his body and then lashed out at the vicious woman. She was no family to him. She was nothing. His father would be free. His mother would be free. He would be free. He screamed with the force of his magic. It lashed out at his aunt, flinging her against the wall of his bedroom and holding her there.

“NO!” He screamed his rage. His voice had a timber to it that he never heard before. There were three distinct tones that came together like a chord played on the piano. It carried a force of the magic that was his inheritance. “I abjure the Dark Bond! The cursed matebond that forces my parents together through me is broken. Your power over us is broken.” With that final word the warped and twisted bond from mother to son to father, made an audible shatter as it snapped.

“Oh Draco what have you done,” his aunt sounded almost defeated. Somewhere in her warped sense of family she did care. “You have betrayed our lord Draco darling. Don’t worry though Auntie will make your death quick and painless. Poor dear you just don’t under-”

“Absolutely NOT Bella! Not my son!” His mothers response shocked him. She was usually more subtle in her defense of her family. “You will not touch a hair on his head!”

His aunt screamed her psychotic rage “You would go against your sister!?”

“Bellatrix,” His fathers voice cut through the sisters frenzy. “It is done.”

“NO!” She screamed. He could feel her struggling against his bonds. “You VILE creature! You have ruined my little sister! I will KILL YOU!” He felt her magic against his, he could nearly smell it. The wandless spell she cast was sharp and tasted dry and hot like cinnamon. It slashed his fathers face. Blood of his blood. He saw red.

His magic exploded into a maelstrom that pulled Bellatrix into it’s center. It continued to mature and ripen, yet he could see through his magic. It continued to wrap around the woman who threatened his family. By instinct alone he Called to his Blood. His mothers love wrapped him in warmth as he added her magic to his own. He pulled his fathers power to him adding that to the growing storm of magic. He then began reaching through their blood, through time and space to call on their Queen. He could feel her fury at being interrupted but his instinctual self knew she could not resist his demand. He felt her aura as she appeared inside his room. The aura increased as one by one, her court joined her. The Queen and her entourage had arrived.

“What is the meaning of this!” Her voice like a whip. He didn’t answer her, he couldn’t. He forcefully pulled power through the blood that connected him to the Queen. As a nephew to the crown he pulled power from her Court adding it all to the growing vortex of his own. “Merlin, he is so strong.” the queen said in quiet awe. Her ire was not forgotten but it changed to something akin to excitement when she caught sight of the woman caught within his magic.

Draco heard the buzzing, the incessant sound of noise around him. He couldn’t focus on it though. He knew the Queen had to be here. The Veela court superseded the Ministry in this. Doubly so since he was not only Veela but Royal through the original Malfoy Patriarch. His focus though was purely on the woman struggling within his magic. He knew his father had warned Bellatrix not to come, forbade her actually. She couldn’t handle being told to do anything though, especially not by her husband. The Malfoy's were to be under her thumb, given to her as a gift to her family from the Dark Lord himself when he used his Dark Arts to force Lucius’ mate bond to Narcissa. She had been an integral part of the entire vile ritual of Dark Fertility. She would pay for her treachery.

He needed one more bond though. One more presence in his soul. Draco knew he was out there, sleeping and in pain. His mate was surrounded by darkness. He reached for him and pulled his future bonded’s pain, misery, anger, rage and every emotion that bombarded his golden soul. He pulled it toward himself. His magic spiked again, rushing through him causing Draco to scream. _So much,_ _He carries_ _so much_ _pain_ _!_

His magic pulsed and began to form bands within the fog that now surrounded Bellatrix. It forced her horizontal, her body held in suspension a metre off the floor. Thick bands of his magic formed around the chakra points on her body: the crown of her head, forehead, throat, chest, waist, stomach, hips. Her hands up to her elbows were encased in a flash of magic, and her feet up to her knees. The magic was bright and flared with possibility. It seemed that each band began to take on the essence of the woman’s sins against his family. With another pulse of light her body and soul were separated with a thin chord connecting the two that Draco’s magic quickly encased. The bonds of his magic were reflected on her soul by small glowing lights at each chakra point. A flare of the bindings around her corporeal body and the chakra points on her spirit and a third part of Bellatrix separated: her magic. Off to the right between her body and her soul her magic took shape. It was a harpy of sorts. It appeared to cross three animals: Woman, Blue Jay, and a multi-headed snake. Her arms and legs were that of the Blue Jay. Her arms were wide blue wings with black striations and her legs were stick thin and scaly bird claws. Her chest, shoulders and head were that of a woman. Her lower torso was that of a serpent that bled into a long tail. The serpent aspect traveled up her spine to her head where it split into multiple snake heads giving her the look of a medusa. Draco’s binding magic made it’s appearance here as shafts of light piercing through the chakras, the joints of the wings and legs and also through multiple parts of the tail. All three aspects of the woman who gave her family to the Dark Lord, were arched, writhing, and screaming in silent agony.

The queen hissed “YES” as her Veela nature began to show through. Her nose elongated to a sharp eagle like beak, her fingers talons, her triple sets of wings stretched behind her. Her eyes became solid gold and her eyebrows sprouted feathers. Her silver waist length mane began flowing around her like a halo.“YES! You vile witch! How dare you come between Veela and their mate! You harmed my family and now, _finally_ , you shall pay.” The queen poured her power through Draco into the bindings around Bellatrix’s body, spirit and magic. Draco gladly followed the Queens lead, giving her control of the binding ritual he had instinctively begun. He could feel the strength and pride of his father surrounding him. He could feel the warmth and love of his mother. He continued to pull from his mate as well, leaving nothing behind but peace and tranquility. His body began to slowly convulse as his own physical changes began causing his power to flare and pulse.

“Bellatrix LeStrange (née Black) you are convicted of attempted murder by denying Veelas their mate. You are convicted treason against the Veela Royal Family through our Nephews and consequently to the Royal Court and the Veela Nation.” Bellatrix trembled and writhed as his magic continued to swirl around them. He could feel her fear and her insanity. She truly loved her sister but was completely devoted to her lord. A spoiled Black Heiress being the woman she had been trained to be. “We can’t allow that vile wizard to know that his power over the Malfoys has ended. We also have to consider your actions did birth us a Prince to our line, strengthening the Veela magic through his mother.” The queen snapped wings out, flaring them wide as if to rise on the winds of his magic. “You will not remember this until I release the information for you, though it’s effects will be felt. You will continue to believe that you have the Lord Malfoy indentured to your cause. You will not however, be able to harm them. Through the maternal blood you share with the young prince Draco I bind you.” The various bindings on the aspects of Bellatrix flashed brightly. “Through intent or deed, magic or physical, directly or indirectly—you can not cause harm to the Malfoys, the Veela Royal Family or the Veela Nation. If you attempt such actions, misfortune will find you to the third power . Through that karmic rebound you will actions will be known. I bind this curse of karma through your own magic. The Malfoy family will also befall this curse of your karma. Where you tried to cause their despair, they will find joy. Through your lies, they will find truth. The confusion you have sown will guide them with certainty. The young princes abjuration of you will become known when your threat is negated. With the shattering of ignorance your shame will begin. By the power of my people, by the magic the binds us all and by the love I hold for my family I curse you Bellatrix. In good conscience I must remind you that you have the power to change this curse. You must give up your selfish pride that lead you to our mercy, repent your past through word and deed, and love unconditionally. You shall reap what you have sown. For your sake I hope you learn to plant better seeds.” With a raising of her hand and a quick slash the queen cast the curse. “As above, so below—so Mote it be!”

A loud crashing sound like the ocean against the shore sounded and all three aspects of Bellatrix arched again in terrible agony. The spears of light through her magical self split three times and connected looking like a net with bright points of light. This net burned into her magical being with an almost audible sizzle. With a whooshing sound of air filling up an empty space and the harpy like medusa was thrown back into the witches spirit self. As they fused once again the bright points of light on the chakras exploded forth encasing her spirit in a mummy like tomb. Adding to the crashing and whooshing sounds came a roar, as if the hounds of hell had been unleashed, and her spirit was absorbed back into her physical form. The bindings flashed in sequence from the base to crown accompanied by the strobe effect from her arms and legs.

The crashing, and whooshing, and demonic screaming coalesced into a single deep bell like “ohm” and the bindings were gone. Briefly on her crown, forehead and throat were runes that slowly faded into her skin. Her arms and legs were covered from tip to elbow and knee with tribal like markings that also faded to nothingness. As the magic pulled away from Bellatrix it flowed back into Draco. It began flowing faster and faster lifting him from his bed chest first into the air. Wings exploded from his back, flinging blood and skin as they ripped through his back for the first time, the double set a physical sign of his royal blood. His body began to glow brighter and brighter until no one could bare to look. The Veela began singing, adding to the fierce birth of the Veela magic that erupted from the young Prince.

 

*-----------Mates and Princes----------*

 

In a high tower in Hogwarts Castle, a school for young witches and wizards, a heart sore young man writhed in agony. The infernal wizard who had failed to kill him for nearly sixteen years, tortured him through his dreams. Forcing him to witness memories of his parents death, the murder of innocent people, forcing him to watch as he fed their entrails to his huge snake familiar (while the victims were still alive.) In the midst of this torture he found himself suddenly pulled out of the nightmare and into a warm golden glow. It took from him all the pain, misery, anger and even his helplessness. It refused to let him keep anything that had cut into his soul. It bathed him in a love that he had never known could exist, full of acceptance and was all together unconditional. Never before had the young man felt so safe. Wrapped in the mysteries cocoon he drifted off into his first undisturbed slumber in months.

 

*-----------Mates and Princes----------*

29 July 1996

 

A scream rent the delicate peace that had settled over Harry as he lay on the pallet in the cupboard under the stairs. While he did still have a bedroom, he hadn’t been in it since he returned from school. His body ached from an overload of chores, malnutrition, and “accidentally” falling onto his uncles fists. Even as his aunt screamed he found he had little energy to move. He could easily convince himself that it was just another scream in the litany that had taken up residence in his dreams. He heard the couch groan adding a dissonant bass to the barrage of verbal sewage that was spewing from his uncles mouth. When added to the shrill tones of his aunt and the petulant stuttering of his cousin it was like he had front seat tickets to a grunge punk metal band. They had talent, he couldn’t understand a word they were screeching. They could call themselves “The Durseltones” and bill themselves as a “the underside of normal, where even Andrex© is afraid to wipe!”

Harry winced as he smiled, his lip threatening to split. It could’ve easily been his sunburn that made his lips so chap, or the “accidental” face plant into the loo door, either way he didn’t want to start bleeding again. Instead he lay and listened to the obnoxious cacophony that was his mother’s relatives. His mind was in disarray as it brought up thoughts and images of the last few months. _Where was Draco?_ His school yard nemesis had left school for his birthday at the beginning of June, but never returned. Knowing how important O.W.L. Exams were to their future he couldn’t help but be concerned. Ron had been certain that the Slytherin Prince was off planning the future demise of all the worlds little virgins while Hermione just smiled and shook her head. _Hermione really changed this year,_ _course Ron had too_ _._ She had seemed to radiate a calm sense of pride and knowledge in herself. Harry had asked about it but she had just smiled enigmatically and said she wasn’t allowed to speak on it. He was happy for her. However while Hermione had become more grounded Ron had become less so. _Dumbledore really shouldn’t have hidden the prophesy from me._ While he understood the mess his life was in was far from the headmasters fault, he got the distinct impression that the august mage had kept him in the dark for his own purpose. He was tired of hearing it was “for the greater good” and “for your own good.” Those excuses were hard to swallow and left a bitter taste in his mouth, even if they were chased by love and good intentions. _Sirius, I really wish they had let us know each other._ He missed Snuffles the Grim. He missed the idea of someone in this world who would fight for him. Someone for who Harry was the important one. He often felt so isolated.

The door to the cupboard under the stairs crashed on it’s hinges. This wasn’t in and of itself that uncommon. The whale of a man that was his Aunt’s husband often liked to kick it when he passed by. However the Durseltone chorus seemed almost frantic. Words still seemed a bit beyond him, but the shrill tones of his aunt had gone from shocked and accusatory to pleading. Vernon’s bass was a bit strangled. The crashing against his door and the whimpers of his cousin added a percussive background. Even if the world didn’t make sense to his starved brain he managed to get a perverse joy out of the Dursley’s distress. _Kudo’s to whoever you are,_ Harry thought to the lyrical alto and strong baritone.

The door crashed again and again as something or someone was repeatedly thrown against it followed by a loud crash and a dull thump of flesh hitting the floor. Much fleshier than the sound of his own meetings with the floor. _Interesting how body mass can affect sound,_ he thought. His pondering was cut short however as the door to his cupboard, the frame it was attached to and much of the wall were ripped off the stair well. Standing in the light of the living room were two robed figures. The light created a halo around them as it filtered through the settling dust. One was tall and of medium build, the other shorter and female if the boots were any indication. The cloaks and light obscured his view. _I wonder if they are death eaters_ he thought idly.

Harry watched as the woman’s shaking hands rose slowly. One to grasp her companions arm and the other went into the shadows of her cowl to presumably cover her mouth. _Were they shaking with mirth,_ he wondered as he continued to watch the pair from his cot. The man was literally vibrating. Their magic radiated from them in waves. He could still hear the pitiful cries of his aunt, the whimpers of his cousin and the rumble of his uncle. It seems their symphony was coming to an end. _They really should talk to their composer or whoever writes their music,_ he thought. _This ending is rather lame._ He didn’t know how long the two robed figures stood there. The tableau was interrupted by a sudden coughing fit from Harry. The dust in the air, added to his already dehydrated body, was difficult to deal with. His ribs protested loudly, his lip split and his nose began to bleed sluggishly.

He found the woman’s hand laid gently on his chest as another cradled his face. Her words made little sense to him, nor did the man’s rumbly reply. He felt a warmth spread from her hand into his chest and deep into his lungs. It soothed the inflammation and allowed him to stop coughing. The ache in his ribs lessened. A vial was pressed to his lips and a sweet liquid was poured into his mouth. The gentle hand covered his mouth while the other massaged his throat urging him to swallow. _Such sweet poison._

“Sleep my dear child,” the voice whispered as unconsciousness finally took over.

*-----------Mates and Princes----------*

30 July 1996

Hazy dreams clung to Harry as he struggled towards wakefulness. He blearily gazed around him. He stared at the curtains that were keeping back the sunlight with confusion. They looked nothing like his cupboard door. No matter how long he started at the curtains they refused to enlighten him on why they were there in the first place. His bladder was also becoming rather insistent. Laying there confounded by the bed hangings he contemplated the benefits of getting out of the most comfortable bed he had ever slept on. He was warm and content even if he was perplexed by the situation.

He vaguely recalled the previous evening. It was an event—a concert? In his aunt’s living room. There wasn’t a musical bone in his families body though. Maybe a concert on the telly. That would account from some of the screams he remembered. “You’re dead,” his aunt had screamed in denial, almost begging for it to be true. It wasn’t like her to be so engaged with the television. Did someone really tear down the wall of his cupboard...and death eaters? Dumbledore had said they couldn’t get into the house on Privet Drive, which is why he sent him back there again—and again and again. Looking around himself he snuggled down into the thick blankets and pillows he was surrounded by and sighed. If this was how the Death Eaters treated their captives he would have to book a trip more often. It occurred to his sleep dazed mind that he didn’t hurt either. _Yes I’ll definitely have to rethink this whole business._

His reflections were interrupted when the bed curtains were all pulled back. Light flooded over him as his dim haven was invaded. He closed his eyes against the onslaught. For the first time he realized he couldn’t move his left arm. Squinting against the luminous intruder he looked down at his arm. He was shocked to see a plastic tube was attached to his forearm by tape. He followed the tube to the canopy of his bed. Hanging their like a spider sitting in it’s web was a chandelier like contraption that held a multitude of potions. There were various kinds of flasks each attached to it’s own tube. The tubes were all threaded through the contraption until they met in the center and deposited their liquid into container of common solution. That solution then is what was being fed into his arm. A rainbow of liquid being fed into him. He was offhandedly curious why (and how) the potions didn’t mix.

He reached with his right hand, above his head to where (if he were in his cupboard) he kept his glasses. He found no shelf or compartment, just a carved headboard. As his hand continued to look for his errant glasses he realized that while nothing made sense, he could see all the confusion just fine. Instead of the normal fuzzy blobs that constituted the world around him without his glasses, he could clearly see the various liquids as they dripped into the tubes. He could even discern that they flowed at different rates. _Wow comfortable bed and fixing my eyesight?! Death Eaters may want me dead but at least they’ll fix me before they break me._

He realized as the thought crossed his mind that it didn’t make any sense. Nothing really did though. Tearing his eyes from the canopy potions monster he glanced around. On his right there were bookshelves as high as he could see, on his left, floor to (he presumed) ceiling windows and at the bottom of his bed, standing in front of another set of bookshelves, stood a creature from the deep abyss. He stood tall and was a shadow within the light that poured in through the windows. His robes swallowed the light. His hair was made of shadow as well and appeared to be set in dreadlocks pulled back behind him. ( _Where dreadlocks supposed to move_ _so sinuously_ _?)_ His eyebrows were bushy and covered nearly all the space from his eyes to his hairline. They were a glistening black. His eyes were large and seemed to reflect at him like a cats but he couldn’t be sure because they were dark and shadowed. He had a beard that seemed to be the same texture as his eyebrows that melted into the shadows of his robes. Strikingly though his mustache and the hair under his bottom lip were a bright and vibrant gold. The patch from his bottom lip seemed to fade down into his robes as well. From under his cheek bone there seemed to be fleshy extensions like you’d see on a fish (He’d seen pictures once of a pond full of orange and white fish that had them—a koi pond?) He didn’t have any discernible ears. What little skin Harry could see was deathly pale.

“Young Master,” the abyssal creature sounded almost exactly like a muggle butler! Except his accent seemed to have no origin and his voice was very deep. “You’ll find that you are, at present, unable to panic. However rest assured that you are in no danger here. I am Smiðr though you may call me Mr. Smith.” The only evidence that the creatures mouth moved was the occasional glimpse of ivory from behind all that facial hair.

“Smith?” Harry’s voice rasped. It seems the butler was correct. He couldn’t feel any fear. Must be one of the potions. _Wonder what they are drugging me up with?_ He thought it odd though that the supposed Mr. Smith had been so upfront about it.

“I can see,” the deep rumbling voice quickly interrupted his thoughts, “that you are concerned.” A hand seemed to appear from the shadows where Harry assumed the creatures body was. The skin proved to be the same pale glistening hue he’d glimpsed on Mr. Smith’s face. The fingers though seemed twice as big as the whole hand! It kind of reminded him of the hands of the grindylow. He remembered just how strong their grip was. The butler used his forefinger to point at the canopy potions monster. “These potions here are various calming draughts,” They seemed to be various shades of a pale blue. “One for your muscles, one for your nerves, one to sooth your veins and arteries, one for your various internal organs and one specifically for your brain. You see young master, your body must remain in it’s calmest state for other potions to address the various misdeeds that have been brought against it.” _Well that makes sense,_ he thought, even though he had no idea what the butler was referring to.

“These,” he pointed to the next set of potions. “Are to help correct some physical deficiencies. You were severely malnourished. This,” he pointed to a milky white potion that was bubbling in it’s flask, “has helped strengthen your bones and promoted growth. Though you will never be as tall as you may have once been.” _I think he just called me short,_ though Harry couldn’t really blame him. He was short for his age. Stupid Dursleys. “These here,” he pointed towards various reddish hued flasks some swirled with gold, dark green and one even had small bursts of color within it! “are to stabilize the blood, purify toxins, strengthen the internal organs (your heart was surprisingly strong for such mistreatment), veins and such.” Pointing at yet another set all in various colors from a muddy brown to one that looked almost like vapor. “These here have worked to purge your body of toxins, provide nutrition, repair nerve damage from recent cruciatus exposure. They have corrected your eyesight and this fellow,” pointing at the vapor “has worked to remove any other spells, compulsions or other such effects you may have been under.”

 _Huh,_ Harry was rather stunned. They truly were trying to piece him back together. He couldn’t feel much (due to the calming potions) he figured, but it was a neat experience. If they had beds like this in the Hogwarts hospital wing he would likely never leave. All his feelings were detached. He remembered he was supposed to be upset over S i rius’s death at the wand of Bellatrix, but he couldn’t feel anything. _Huh,_ Harry thought again.

Looking at the Butler, one Mr. Smith, Harry’s thoughts focused on one pressing need. “Well thank you Mr. Smith for fixing me up. Before you take me to be murdered (or are you going to do that on your own?) can I take a piss?” He was sure it wasn’t polite but it certainly wasn’t combative and that was something of an accomplishment considering Harry’s most recent experiences.

“You most certainly may use the facilities young man,” with a wave of the gaunt hand Harry found he could move his arm. “However the potioabra will travel with you. You can see your not quite done with the infusions.”

“I’m sorry, come again? The what?” Harry was trying to process what Mr. Smith had said while also trying to figure out how the blankets managed to get so twisted and yet comfortable at the same time.

“The Potioabra young Master,” he said and waved his hand at the canopy potion monster. _Ah I see,_ Harry pondered.

“I thought it looked like a candelabra...or a spider. Will it just...follow me?” He looked towards the shadow clad being.

“Indeed it will young Sir,” he stepped back from the bed to nearly be swallowed by shadows. “If you’ll follow me I will show you to the lavatory.”

Harry managed to unwrap himself from his blankets and stumble from the bed. He didn’t have to follow Mr. Smith very far. He turned and directed Harry’s attention to the door that was in front of him. “These facilities should suffice. I’ll wait at the bottom of the stairs here. We’ve much yet to accomplish.” The strange being stepped down a set of stairs that began at the end of the book shelf. Harry looked at the large wooden door. He had no idea what the wood was but it shined a beautiful red as the sun light hit it. He gently pushed the door open and gasped.

Standing back against the black marbled wall stood a white marbled winged lion. It was reared back on hit’s hind legs. One paw was held up as if to strike at whoever was entering the bathroom, yet it’s paw held a glowing orb of light. The other paw was down and held a vessel sink. The sink was a dark burnished gold. As he stepped up to the sink to get a closer look, water began to trickle from the lions wide open maw. _I love magic!_ Harry thought excitedly. He quickly moved further into the room. The black walls seemed to shift and glow in the light. There was a white tub that a whale could drown in, that stood on claw feet. Next to the tub was a squared off section of floor seperated by a small golden line. That corner of the bathroom had benches attatched to the wall. _Was that the shower? Where did the water come from?_ He wondered. He heard a polite cough through the door. _Right,_ Harry thought as he was reminded that his bladder was on the verge of exploding.

After finishing his ablutions and washing his hands at the most amazing sink in the whole world, Harry hurried out the door. Down the stairs Mr. Smith motioned for him to follow down a short hallway that lead into a--

“Is this...a library?” Harry gasped. The area was well lit and huge. He walked over to what appeared to be a railing and nearly choked. Hermione would adore this.

“Yes and no young Sir.” The being said. “We are in the Lions Den,” he announced. “Which is a balcony that is reached through and overlooks the library.” Harry was astounded. Below him he counted at least seven different levels.

“But it’s...HUGE,” he said. “where are we?”

“The Potter Manor House of course.” He was answered.

“Potter Manor...” Harry could tell his voice was shaky. _Potter..manor. The Potters had a manor. Have._

“I feel your confusion young Master. You’ve much to learn. Come we’ve much to do.” Harry turned from gazing down in the ludicrous library. Standing next to Mr.Smith was a small fae looking woman. As he walked up to them he could see that her pale skin had a slight honeyed tint to it with darker markings that swirled around reminding him, vaguely, of the bathroom door he was enamored with not more than minutes ago. She looked at him with large luminous eyes. It took him a moment to realize that he could discern no pupil or iris for that matter. They were a solid green that reminded him of the Forbidden Forest.

“Good day Young Sir,” she said with her smokey, melodic voice. “Welcome to the Athenaeum, the repository of Potter knowledge. I am Catalogia, though please call me Cat. I am, for lack of a better word, the librarian here. Keeper and caretaker of the repository.”

The woman shifted her head looking at Harry. He noticed her hair. It was the color of parchment and sounded just like parchment rustling together as it moved. The parchment type hair fell to her feet, cascading around her lithe frame. She turned her attention to Mr. Smith.

“It has been set up and is ready.” She said to him.

“Thank you skatten min,” he said as he ushered Harry toward a large double door set in the wall at the back of the balcony. The doors themselves were works of art. The wood was dark and the carvings stood in relief against them. The main carving, in the middle, was a huge lions head. As he approached the lion seemed to smile and then it spoke “Welcome home young Master. You’ve been missed.” It then opened it’s mouth. Mr. Smith reached past Harry and pulled on one of the upper canines, pulling one of the doors open.

“You truly have been young sir,” he murmered to Harry “We’re a little rushed for time, but take a moment to look around before we begin”

The room he found himself in was circular, or perhaps octagonal would better describe it. On each wall was a portrait that seemed to examine him. Most of the men had hair that was as wild as his own though not all as dark. In fact there were quite a few blonds and red heads among the men and women around him. “Um, hello.” Harry said. He knew he’d be nervous and overwhelmed here if not for the potions he was on. “I’m Harry.” He was surprised when he received a chorus of “hello’s” from the surrounding portraits.

“This is an Ancestoral Room,” Mr. Smith said from behind him. “Select ancestors choose to store various nodes of information throughout the Keep. Here represent eight masters of various magical crafts and disciplines. You’ll get to know them in time. Let me draw your attention to Lady Arianna here,” he pointed over to their left. A blond woman, with long sleek tresses (definitly lacking the potter hair) gazed serenly back at them. Mr. Smith bowed before her and her portrait swung open. Behind her was another small room. There sat a pensive and various vials. However the portrait on the shelf above it was rather distracting.

“Hey pup! Bet you think I’m dead,” Sirius chuckled.

“What?” Harry gasped. “I mean I saw you fall, and Dumbledore said, and you were gone...wait you mean you’re alive?”

“Shhh, you’re not supposed to know that,” his godfather winked. “We’re here for another reason pup. I’m here mostly to put you at ease. Seems no one else is allowed to talk to you.”

Harry was happy, or at least he would be if the calming potions allowed him to be such. He was definitely confused. “Sirius, that is quite enough. You know, as the situation stands, that knowledge could cause great harm.” Mr. Smith said sternly behind him.

Sirius sighed. “Yeah, I know. It’s just such good news. The magic is beyond ancient. He’ll be so happy,” he said with an odd mixture of remorse and excitement. “He’s right though Harry. We can’t talk about it. Mums the word and all that. We’re here to fix some of your...educational gaps.” He waved his arm before him, indicating the pensive and various vials. “I won’t pretend to you this will be easy, but we’re gonna give you the education your parents would have made sure you had—okay well mostly your mother. She was amazing. But your father too.” The portrait smiled. “We’ve got lots to cover from wizarding culture, basic arithmancy, to politics. You’ll be responsible for this demesne someday.”

“Indeed you will young master,” Mr. Smith came behind him. “I’m afraid this won’t be comfortable. It is a lot of knowledge that you’re brain will have to absorb. It will take a while for much of it to become second nature to you.”

“so...we’re just going to watch this stuff in the pensive?” Harry asked.

“’Fraid it’s not that easy pup,” His godfather said. “The pensive is for your current thoughts. Your mind must be calm and receptive for the knowledge to take.”

 _That makes sense,_ Harry thought. “How much will this hurt?”

“Quite a bit I’m afraid,” Mr. Smith said. “Your body will be sore in conjunction with your head as your brain acclimates to the knew knowledge. You’ve over a solid decade worth of things that it is deemed you should know or should have known already.”

“Don’t worry you can handle it. As the kids are saying these days ‘you got this’” his godfather smiled at him. “Come on, the sooner we get this done the sooner we can work on getting you a new wardrobe!”

“My cloths are fine,” Harry muttered

“If by fine you mean fit for a troll, then sure Harry, they’re fine.” the portrait scoffed at him

“Oi! we’re not here about my cloths!”

“Harry is correct, shall we proceed?” Mr. Smith “then perhaps we can have a picnic lunch on the veranda.”

Harry looked at everything around him. He still wasn’t entirely certain he wasn’t dreaming. Everything was so surreal. He was not in a cupboard under the stairs, starved, burnt and broken. He was in a small chamber, with a monster butler from the abyss, a nymph just outside the door and his dead godfathers portrait hanging in front of him. Harry sighed. If it was a dream though, he didn’t want to wake up. This was much better than reality. And much better than Deatheaters.

“Okay, lets do it.” He said quietly. _Let the fun begin_

 

 

 


End file.
